Revenant Chronicle
by 0109silver
Summary: When Sydney finds an ancient journal in one of her father's old houses, it leads to Sydrian in two different eras. Uncovering an outdated mystery, and sorting out peculiar feelings for a forbidden person, Sydney is in for one heck of a ride. Slight AU. Inspired by StarvingLunatic's story.
1. Chapter 1

**Revenant Chronicle **

**Chapter 1**

**This story had been inspired by **_**StarvingLunatic's**_** Kim Possible fanfiction **_**Another Time, Another Place**_**. It really is an amazing story and if you're a fan of the cartoon Kim Possible and Kigo then it really is a treat. Check it out.**

**And I must stress this is a slight AU story, so some things will be changed. But it is set after the first Bloodlines book and parts of Golden Lily and most of Indigo Spell hasn't happened. Yeah I wanted Sydney and Adrian to bond over their little "adventure" that they are about to partake in.**

**Enjoy. **

**P.s. if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes. Please tell me. I will fix it.**

**((((0))))**

There is always something that someone despises, somewhere in the world. Maybe it is traffic, flying commercial, the absence of something to watch on the television, or maybe cats. Sydney, on the other hand can tolerate those (cats however she was delighted over), because she has all experienced them more than once in her life. Yet those things didn't compare to what she had to do now. It wasn't sticking her head in a basket full of snakes or wrestling a bear, because if it was, she would be felicitous to comply with doing so. Whether it was volunteering to be Jill's manikin for sewing class or being the punching bag for Angeline's training, she would be happy to be such things.

But what was coming. . .

No, Sydney would rather do or be anything. Any god sent, or karmic response to her pleading prayers and petitions would be greatly appreciated for the blonde. But no reception came, much to her dismay. The golden-eyed girl sighed for the umpteenth as she sat in the taxi. She stared out at the familiar landscape she came accustomed to; only to be leaving it for the thing she detests more in the world than double negatives or bureaucracy.

Jill said it won't be that bad, since she wasn't staying for the entire time. But the fifteen year old doesn't know what she is talking about, because she has never been in Sydney's specific situation, with the particular people.

The Alchemist sighed again, placing her elbow on the windowsill of the car and placed her hand over her eyes, hoping that it was a dream. Yet she knew too well it wasn't. So, the girl quickly sucked it up and came to reconcile the "dire situation" (according to a certain person on the phone a week ago). What was the "dire situation" Sydney dreaded, anyway? How could it compare to living with vampires for the past 3 months? Well, it didn't equate in any way, shape, or form; because her current habitation was a walk in the park, in retrospect now. If only she could jump from the taxi and run back to Palm Springs, but she was in flats and Sydney didn't run well in flats. She did have running shoes in her suitcase, but they were in the truck of the yellow car, not at her disposal.

_Had to wear the flats, didn't I_, the blonde scolded herself, _couldn't pick the converse._

The Alchemist really was contemplating her escape, but decided against it because the woman on the phone a week ago would surely drag her away once she found out about the teen's elusion. And Sydney knew for certain that it would happen because that darn woman has done it before.

The ride to the airport was long, and the flight east was going to be longer. The apprehensiveness was seeping from the girl's pores, as she sat down in first class waiting for the flight to Utah.

_I wonder if the plane has parachutes._ Sydney humored herself, trying to relieve her disheartened mood. Unfortunately the plane didn't have any required escape routes, so the blonde sulked back into her comfortable seat, but the teen didn't even notice the plush cushion, because her mind was elsewhere. In a couple of hours she will be in her own personal ring of hell. In her opinion anyway. Hopefully she will get out unscathed, but that seemed unlikely, since she still has scars, mentally and physically.

So what was the Alchemist's customized brand of hell awaiting her?

A family reunion.

. . . . .

_U dead yet? _The blonde's phone chimed. She quickly replied with enthusiasm.

_Slowly but surely. _

She smiled in spite of herself and promptly turned it into a scowl. This was not professional; it was fraternizing with the enemy in Alchemist standards. But was the enemy really a spoiled, party boy Moroi with terrible vices? The intellectual didn't know which discouraged her even more when the next text from Adrian sounded. _Need me 2 play Superman? U could be my Louis Lane._

She replied hesitantly, but stilled answered. _With the cape? Or do you prefer nerd glasses?_

The teen's relationship with the older vampire was muddled at best in her opinion. If you asked her with another fellow Alchemist around, she would reply with distain and say "he is only a job", or something only those lines. Yet at school with regular humans or with the crew around she would answer "he's a good friend". In fact, he was a really good friend to her, or if she was in a bounteous mood, a best friend. But most of the time she scoffed at that idea, telling herself her best friend needed to be a human. Not a bloodsucking vampire. Even so, with the batter between them that flows like the endless Nile, and the quick discernment of each other was easily recognizable. Most people would think they known each other for their entire lifetimes by how well they read and interpreted one another, but in reality they only been acquainted for merely 3 months.

_He's just a friend_, the blonde would order herself, _just like Jill and the others. Friends at Palm Springs, mortal enemies elsewhere._

The phone chimed again: _Getting w/ the foreplay, now aren't we?_

The orderly teen laughed silently to herself and replied: _No. Just getting a feel for my wannabe savior. Blue or green tights?_

The taxi Sydney was sitting in turned and the girl shifted slightly to the opposite side by her body's inertia. Then the teen had a strange thought that Adrian would be the only one to sit and actually listen to her tell him about the body's resistance to motion. A strange thought, yet still a happy one. . .

Her phone texted back: _Green. It matches my eyes._

Now Sydney really laughed out loud, earning a look from the driver. She gave one right back_. Indeed_, she replied. The blonde girl glanced outside, and dismay slide across her face as she recognized the very familiar surroundings of Salt Lake City. Under normal circumstances, she would be joyful, but under the context she had a sudden urge to shout at the driver to turn around. She refrained, and texted:

_Nearing the red sun, about to be powerless. Bye. See you and the guys soon . . . if I survive._

"Talk about showing your inner geek, Sydney," she chided herself. The driver gave her another look, and she returned it. He quickly glared back down or victory in the teen's opinion.

The final text came to her phone: _K. Bye. Ps, nice Superman reference. :)_

Sydney grinned at herself, for getting a grin from the Moroi.

A few minutes later, the Alchemist stood in front of a large gothic looking mansion. Before her was heavy polished oak doors with intricate cravings of vines and flowers (more or less lilies), and above her was a large arch way in sun beaten tan stones. Most of the time she would go in without a hitch, but now as her predicament was laid out in front of her; she took the time to take in the aspiring architecture. The wonderful juxtaposition of the beige mansion or the Doric order of the columns was all too familiar with her, so she turned slightly to see the taxi leave the crescent gravel drive way—her final escape route gone and out of her reach. She debated to drop her stuff and sprint after the yellow car, but as soon as she was ready the door creaked open.

"Oh, Sydney!"

Before the teen could whip around to see who was at the door, she was smothered by an iron hug. Then she smelled the slight hint of motor oil and perfume, and Sydney hugged the woman back somewhat, considering that she could free her arms from the embrace.

"Hey, Mom," the blonde whispered into the woman's hair. The woman, apparently Sydney's mother, stood back to see a look of her daughter at arm's length.

"My goodness, Sydney. You certainly look a lot bigger since you been gone," The woman examined. Most people would take offense to that comment, but to Sydney, that was a good thing. Her mom has always wanted her daughter to be more on the healthy _looking_ side, rather than healthy _eating _one. The teen's mom wasn't like her father, and Sydney was glad for that.

It was true, the blonde did put on a little weight since she has been in Palm Springs; however it was more muscle than anything else. Hanging out with dhampirs, playing and competing in volleyball, among other "extracurricular" activities has surely put some meat on the young woman's bones. Not that she was complaining since some guys from her school were commenting to about her "looking good".

"Thanks, Mom . . . could you help me with the bags?" The older woman nodded, and with a few swift movements picked up what she could and both women traveled inside the mansion. The interior was just as beautiful as the outside with marble floors and lush wooden and stone arches leading to different rooms on either side. A grand stair case was of rich dark wood and sat directly in the middle of the room, but peeled off into two leading to the corridors of the mansion. Old antiques lined the walls from the generations of the Sage family and portraits of said members. A crystal chandelier eliminated the room giving it a golden glow fit for a queen. Or in this case Sydney's maternal relative's reunion.

"How long are you staying again, sweetie?" The older women asked, stopping at the staircase and setting down the bags.

"Only for a couple of days. Not for the whole week and a half," her daughter responded, also stopping.

"Darn," was the mother's reply.

"It's okay. I'm sure you'll have enough company. Besides I have somewhere to get back to."

Ms. Sage didn't response to that statement because she knew all too well of Alchemist missions, she was married to one for once and now her middle daughter was one too. Plus, she was never one to pry.

Once the bags were in the daughter's room, the couple went down to the dining room, which was now being renovated for the reunion. White streamers hung along the walls, white napkins and plates were being unwrapped and set aside and a white table cloth was rolled down the long mahogany table. Apparently white was the theme this year, unlike last year which was pink (thankfully Sydney was in Prague at the time). The reunions often rotated from member to member and this year it was Sydney's mother's turn. The older woman had a rather large family on her side, and usually they had these gatherings at parks or in hotels, but this time was different: they were in a mansion. Or in the blonde's case . . . home.

Sitting down at the table, the mother and daughter caught up or at least attempting to. Because of the Alchemist's job she had to sugarcoat and reply with vague answers, treading carefully so she won't give away important information, even if it was the girl's mom. Again Ms. Sage was considerate of her daughter's secrecy, since again she was married to one for almost 23 years. Though it was sometimes frustrating, the older woman didn't intrude with their business.

The conversation died down after an hour or so of catching up, and turned into a comfortable silence between the couple. Sydney took the subtle time to canvass her mother, though it was almost unnecessary. The middle aged woman was aging gracefully as time could allow, with only signs of age around her eyes in flaccid crow's feet. Her wavy, chestnut hair was slightly dulling, but was hidden by regular treatments to the solon. And her eyes were still the pale blue-grey, but still shined like the sky on a good day. Even though Sydney got her father's eyes and hair, she got her mother's exact face, like a mirror to the older woman. Which she guessed was a good thing, because she really did believe her mother was and still is attractive, though she was nearing 50.

Sydney was then jimmied away from her examination of her mother by the said woman. "Have you talked your sister lately?" The mother asked, with a bit of racking behind her eyes. The brunette knew that her daughters were having a stressful time with one another since the older one supposedly "stole" Zoe's opportunity.

The blonde hesitated before answering, still reflecting whether or not she did the right thing by shielding her young sister from the overbearing society she was sworn to. "No."

"Shame." Her mother started, "You just missed her too. She went to some training with the novice Alchemist classes." Most of the time Alchemists were trained by their parents or legal guardians alone, but a couple times a year they would meet up with other pupils around the region to get a feel of how to work together for their first year or so after being inked. Sydney met some of her good childhood friends while in that system; it was a good exercise to practice.

The golden-eyed girl frowned oh so slightly, "Oh. That is a shame."

She really wanted to make amends with her sister, since she did technically steal the younger sister's chance to be within the Alchemist society. She guessed she will have to wait longer to do so, which in the blonde's opinion was for the best. She knows how the Alchemists work and how they suppress its own people most of the time. The teen never wanted her younger sister to be with the suppression, she wanted her to live her own life, not waste it away for the group. For Sydney however, it was too late.

One of the servants came and offered two cups of coffee, obtruding the Alchemist from her thoughts. Both women drank in silence, pondering with their own sentiments for the time being.

"So," the woman mechanic commenced, with a decent amount of mirth intertwining her voice. "Any boys I should know about?" Her daughter choked on her own java, while her own mother smirked.

. . . . .

Right now, Sydney had homicidal and even suicidal thoughts crossing her intellectual mind. She was in the mist of Hell as far as she could tell. Her maternal family members chatted around her, making sure not to miss a single word in the English dictionary and then some. Annoying cousins were asking bickering questions and then fighting with each other over the last chocolate cupcake (even though there were more in the kitchen). Great uncle Larry was drinking to his heart's desire, but was still complaining about the taste of the wine, yet curiously polished off three bottles of the "distasteful wine". Cousin Henry was picking fights with anyone and everyone because he just wanted to start trouble or either desires to have another family get-together—at his funeral. And the twins were chafing the butlers and the maids by making nonsensical and lewd requests. Apparently "jerk-ingoff soup" wasn't on the menu this evening. All of this and it was forty seven minutes in.

Sydney fervently watched the clock, and was wondering why her neck and brain ached with vigor. The teen was in the corner, leaning against the wall with a face of vexation and a bit of indigent. Yet that latter one was for her mother, who was making her rounds to each relative with dynamism. The blonde's arms were crossed over her chest, hoping that her little aura of serenity would help her growing dismal.

Seeing her only daughter at the function dejected, Ms. Sage trotted over to the teen offering something she wanted more than anything: liberation.

"Your father called earlier," the hostess inquired. "He said he needed something in the old Sage house . . . something about vials and beakers from the Middle Ages—"

"I can go get them," the young Alchemist cut in, hoping for a few hours of relief. Sydney's face brightened in expectation for it.

With a grin of knowingness, the mother stated, "He said they are in the master bed room's closet in the chest. He wants you to bring it back to his office and leave it there for him when he gets back home."

"Coincidently" and very conveniently the great Jared Sage was called off to South America for business. Or lucky in his daughter's opinion. He never was a fan of his wife's family or the annual reunions that came with her, Sydney could understand that much. Mr. Sage's family was more compact, small, and less . . . what was the word? . . . diverse in personalities.

The teen feverously accepted, nearly wanting to sprint to the front door, but was stopped by her mechanic of a mother. "Not without these." She tossed something at the eager teen. She looked down at what she caught and smiled even wider than before. Now, she literally ran to the front door, nearly knocking over "dear" cousin Henry. Much to her pleasure.

She burst into the family garage and flipped on the lights revealing a large room with around a dozen or so cars, more or less assembled or not. The cars were polished and by modern standards old, but worth, each, over hundred thousand dollars. The Alchemist's mother was a high end mechanic for the rich and powerful and even has her own shop in Salt Lake. So it was not an enigma to Sydney to see such works of art disassembled and pieces misplaced near them. Yet Sydney passed by without a second look, because her mind was on a certain machine.

A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro awaited the blonde at the end of the garage. The marvelous machine was light cobalt with white racing strips that was so intense it could be seen from space. It had recently been waxed by the acute odor around the car, and it was the best aroma the teen has ever smelled. It was Ms. Sage's most prized car, and now it was lent to her daughter. It was sort of a writ of passage to the golden-eyed girl and the anxiety was building up in her.

She slid into the masterpiece, taking in the black leather that surrounded her. Oh, yes. Maybe the reunion wasn't so bad.

. . . . .

Before the young Alchemist was a generations old house outside the city of Salt Lake, in the middle of the surrounding desert alone and undisturbed. The girl had fond memories of this place when she was younger, running through the creaky old house or swinging on the porch swing. It was a time when her mother needed to get away from society and packed up her kids and left for the weekend despite her husband's protests, only stating that it was a "girl weekend". The sisters had fun running up and down the two story house, playing hide and seek, and finding the secret passage ways and compartments. Some of the Alchemist's best memories were in that house and it brought a small smile to the teen's face. The house had a sort of panache about it now, notwithstanding the worn out appearance it had, with its chipping white paint and thinning wood and shingles. It's been fixed up quite a few times over the Sage generations, people of history and narratives. So it was natural for the blonde to feel the need to tack together the ancient house, like any devotee of history should feel.

The golden-eyed girl entered, and navigated through the house like she owned the place. Well, technically she will since it is in her father's bequeath. The place was filled with archaic possessions pasted down from the girl's paternal heritage, which Sydney would normally look through but she was on a "mission". Once the girl got to the master bedroom, she went straight to the closet space and located the chest. Unlocking the clips, she flipped open top, and coughed as dust fluttered up from her actions. Once regaining some clean air, she peered inside the bureau.

Like her father and mother said the beakers, cylinders, and other Alchemist equipment were there, somewhat covered in a thin veil of dust. The blonde teen grinned slimly at the instruments, recollecting fond memories of using them, and then subsequently nearly making a deadly acidic compound in the process. Boy, was her dad pissed and her mom . . . well, she couldn't find enough air to say anything.

Sydney put the lid against the back wall, and started gathering the supplies. Some times with certain compounds Alchemists needed to go back to some antediluvian methods of creating them, therefore they need equally antiquely instruments like the one's before the teen. The young Alchemist had to make a couple of trips to gather all of the scientific equipment, because she didn't think of getting a basket on the way out of the house. All was on the blonde's mind was freedom from that prison, or also called the family reunion. But it was worth the effort because it meant a longer stay at the girl's getaway home.

On the final trip, the blonde took longer than the others, trying to delay the inevitable of going back to her own personal brand of Hell. Her enthusiasm was dwindling to its breaking point as she stomped up the stairs one final time. Entering the closet and gathering the last bits of freedom she had left, she picked up the last beakers, stood up, and turned to leave. Yet her foot caught the edge of the chest and she tripped, tearing the box away from its dormant position. Clinging to the beakers as hard as she could without breaking them, she regained her balance and stood upright again. Damn her clumsy self, if she shattered a beaker her father will have her head on a platter.

Sucking her teeth and loosening her grip on the glass cylinders, she twirled around to see the chest ajar from its fixed position. Sighing, she set the equipment down and moved to the box to situate it back. Now on her knees, she was about to fix the disposition when a weird impression caught her eye. It was subtle and easily over looked, but for a person who will spend the rest of her life keeping secrets, you also have to spot them.

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, and examined more. It was a secret trapdoor alright, a very good trapdoor. Under an untrained eye it wouldn't stand out, but for an Alchemist it did. Pushing the truck away some more, it turned out the compartment was rectangular in shape and didn't seem to have a direct opening. So, the intellectual prone to love mysteries, searched for the indirect trigger. It took some time, considering how cluttered the space was, but eventually she found it.

A small protruding nail near the wall in the corner, curiously near the secret compartment, was the trigger, and after fiddling with it, pushed like a button. And the trapdoor opened with a burst of dust.

A faint idea crossed Sydney's mind that she may have found treasure, but she soon shoved it away. It's not like her family needed any more money. The girl slowly lifted the lid up and peered inside. In the ancient space, was a medium sized wooden box, maybe a jewelry box of sorts, which was tucked away behind some boards and beams. Delicately, she reached in and picked up the enshrouded box.

. . . . .

Finally, the reunion pariah returned to her mansion to thankfully find that the family members retired to their lent rooms. She did what she was told and took the equipment to her father's study and then retired herself to her own room. Sitting on her bed, she examined the wooden box she has excavated out of her father's family house. It was indeed an old jewelry box with etchings on the curved top, and a lock on the outside. At first, the blonde teen tried to pry at it with her hands, but failed, so now she was trying to lock pick it. While silently thanking her father who gave her lessons on such and gave her her own set of picks.

After several frustrating minutes, a satisfying click came from the young Alchemist's efforts. She opened the box to find miscellaneous possessions; coins, seashells, a mask, and other things that seem mismatched. The golden-eyed teen wasn't a sentimental person, so she easily discarded those things. Yet once shifting through the items, she discovered a book. Or to be more precise, a journal. It was old; obviously, bond by deep brown leather with an overlapping flap with a string and a button to keep the pages in. Cautiously, Sydney unwound the string from the button and opened the daybook to the first page.

The blonde gasped, and pushed the book away like it was a poisonous snake.

"What the. . ."

Overcoming her appalled state, she tacitly leaned over and plucked the book where she threw it. She read and reread the name on the inside.

"What in the world was this doing in our house?"

. . . . .

An exhausted Adrian slipped into his apartment after a long day of errands and college classes. He locked the door and then proceeded to his kitchen where he needed some alcohol. The young man was so tired, in fact, that he didn't see a certain person in the shadows of his living room.

"You're all out of alcohol," the person stated. "And out of diet coke."

Twirling around, the Moroi instinctively got into a stance, while thinking back to Wolfe's lessons on how to survey the situation.

"You can calm down, Adrian. It's me." The mystery person flipped on a nearby lamp to reveal itself. The young man quickly relaxed and smirked.

"You know, if you wanted a booty call, you could've just called, Sage," He smiled, making sure to wiggle his eyebrows. Sydney snorted with mirth.

"And miss your reaction? No," she commented, still grinning from his response. "Nice reflexes by the way. I'm glad my money didn't go to waste."

Adrian chuckled, while going to his kitchen, "Of course it wasn't a waste. You were with me anyway." He shuffled through his fridge, but didn't seem to find what he wanted. "Damn, out of alcohol."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yeah, you did, but I just needed to be sure."

Sydney crossed her arms, but didn't get up from where she sat. "Right," she said incredulously at the vampire, who was still excavating his fridge.

The Alchemist never understood the pale man's addiction to alcohol or his way of not believing anything, but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt by claiming it was both spirit related. So, she watched him search for a couple of seconds until he was finally defeated by his own actions. So instead of his usual drink he fetched for some ginger ale. Much to the teen's surprise.

"So what brings you here to my cave at—" he looked to his clock—" 8 o'clock at night. Please tell me it was for my suggestion."

The blonde smirked ever so slightly, "Sorry not this time."

"Darn."

They both smirked at each other, filling the silent void between them. It has been 3 days since they have seen one another, but if you asked them they would have thought it was a life time ago; even if they'll deny it if you inquired them with such a suggestion.

"Weren't you supposed to come back tomorrow morning? Or did you miss me that much?" The young man asked with his usual satire and nonchalance. He could be so self-absorbed at times.

"Dang it you caught me," the blonde girl joked, earning a wide grin from the pale Moroi. "No, got in early, thankfully."

"I guess you should be thankful. Because it landed you right here to me," the vampire chatted back. He took a sip of his drink. How could he have forgotten his alcohol? How did _the_ Adrian Ivashkov forget to buy his bourbon? Maybe it had something to do with the little Alchemist in front of him. . .

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, but without any enthusiasm.

Then something hit the pale vampire. "How'd you get in?"

The blonde didn't reply automatically, instead she got up and headed toward Adrian. "I know how to pick locks . . . and I know where your spare key is. Here." The teen handed over the said key to the emerald-eyed vampire, who took it and put it in his pocket.

It took a moment for the conversation to start up again, not that it minded the couple. It was comfortable in its own way. Adrian longed at the blonde teen adjacent to him, trying to mentally figure out why she was here. Was she on an assignment? Could he possibly be worth the young woman's time? Did she seriously want a booty call? The party boy didn't know, but he would soon find out. The one thing after alcohol, art, Sydney, and friends that Adrian loved was mysteries. And he certainly loved solving them.

"What _did_ bring you here to my lovely home?"

Lovely was a stretch by Sydney's standards by viewing his apartment. Between that hideous plaid couch and the bright yellow walls, yeah it was a stretch. Or maybe she just wasn't that artistic and imaginative to relate such things? The blonde internally shrugged, and went back to where she was sitting because she was finally getting to the conversation she wanted to stumble upon. She grabbed something in the chair and walked back to a puzzled vampire.

"This," she said, purposely being ominous and playful. The golden-eyed girl offered the journal to Adrian who took it thirstily. To the slender Moroi it was a journal, brown, and old. He glanced at the teen one more time, and noted how there was a mischievous glint in her molten eyes. He didn't like this, not one bit. Yet, he loved a good mystery, so he peeled back the flap to see what the big deal was.

Sydney struggled to hide the look of amusement on her face, when she saw the pale vampire go ridged in shock by what he was reading and rereading. He eyes bulged as he glowered at the neatly cursive name that lay beneath the cover. Then realization hit the pale man and he involuntarily gasped and lost the book from his now numb fingers. The journal landed with a muffled thud, still open for the entire world to see. He took a small instinctual step back, still transfixed on the name written in beautiful calligraphy. Within the journal, it exclaimed that it belonged to Adrian Ivashkov.


	2. Chapter 2

**Revenant Chronicle **

**Chapter 2**

**This story has been inspired by StarvingLunatic's Kim Possible fanfiction Another Time, Another Place.**

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me. I will fix them.**

**((((0))))**

"W-where did you get this?" Adrian stuttered incredulously. The journal still laid on the floor untouched by either person. Adrian still had a bewildered look on his face while Sydney, try as she might, struggled with keeping her composer to the young vampire's reaction to the discovery.

The slender man didn't comprehend why his very name was in the book, a book that he has never seen before in his short life. It was improbable, unbelievable, but there was the proof; literally, right in front of his person, a mere foot before him. It was uncanny, for a lack of a better word, to see his name on something that wasn't even his. And even weirder that it has been in the human's possession.

The blonde, deciding that she has had her fill of amusement for the night, determined she should answer the stupefied Moroi. "In my family's closet . . . well more in a secret compartment in a closet."

Adrian only nodded in understanding because he lacked the cognitive impulse to answer verbally. The Alchemist noted that it was one of the few times she has seen the party boy speechless. So, now it was imbedded into her brain for future entertainment, which in itself brought a small smile to her face. Adrian however caught a glance at the impish smirk.

"Why are you so smiley?" He suddenly voiced. And then like magic the grin was gone replaced by a deadpanned expression. The teen crossed her arms around her chest.

"Nothing."

The brunette Moroi didn't reply, only glowering at the blonde human with a dubious green eye. There was an abundance of questions on the tip of his tongue, but none seemed to cover enough ground for the man. Many of them regarded the worn out journal and how it was in possession of the Sage family and its descendent in front of him. No explanation was in his mind on how it was even in his identity, let alone how it was placed in the house.

The emerald-eyed Moroi suddenly realized that he has been speechless and dumbstruck before the entertained human. He quickly straightened and put on a façade smirk, trying to hide his disbelief on the situation. Then he obtained a brilliant idea.

"Well, this is an interesting development in our relationship," he enounced, with a smirk that scared the blonde ahead him. She even suppressed a gulp. Which, he mentally took note of for future reference.

The young woman uncrossed her arms and placed them firmly at her sides. "How so?"

To be honest, when Adrian had that certain smirk on his face, it meant trouble for the receiving party. And currently the golden-eyed teen was in the wake of that bright, white half-smile.

"Well," the owner of the smile began. "If you love mysteries as much as I do, you would want to solve it, right?" His teasing didn't help the teen's racing heart in her chest, especially when she started putting the pieces together in her fast mind. She didn't like the plausible outcome of her deductive reasoning. Not to mention she had a feeling that the young Moroi man knew that the wheels were turning in her head.

She played along to Adrian's semi-sadistic codding, "Yeah."

The pale man shoved his hands into his pockets in a nonchalance way. "Well, the only way to find out is to read it." The grin widened ever so slightly. He gracefully picked the forsaken journal up, and acted like he was examining the pages by flicking the pages quickly to one side then another. "And it is a pretty decent size book . . ."

"Adrian, no," the blonde girl picked up where the Moroi left off. "I am not spending my free time by reading a sticking journal with you."

"Why not?" He even had the audacity to pretend to pout.

"Because it's _my_ free time. Besides we could always take turns reading it alone." Yes, that was logical to the Alchemist. The last thing she needed was spending time with a drunken vampire, especially if the said vampire was Adrian Ivashkov.

"What, and miss your reaction?" He mocked even more, turning the teen's earlier words against her.

The blonde removed one of her hands from her side and placed it over her eyes, she then sighed deeply. As much as it irks the younger woman to think it, Adrian had a point. As unbelievable as it may sound, she agreed with the older man before her. The Alchemist did want to uncover how the book got into the old Sage house and subsequently finding out if the name in the journal was related to the Moroi somehow. It was plausible, since the name wasn't that common of a surname. And even without that evidence to support Adrian's point, it would be faster and more efficient to read the journal with the Moroi in as few settings as possible. The blonde teen sighed again, but this time was in defeat. She lifted her head from her fingers and peered at the eager vampire with venom.

"Fine," she stated bluntly once she came to the conclusion. She saw how the pale young man brightened by her response, and took note how it made her stomach curl.

So without another word the tolerable couple traveled shortly to the repulsive plaid couch. They both sat down, making sure not to touch each other, but for different reasons. Sydney's was because her partner was a vampire, and Adrian's was trying to be considerate of that. Adrian took dominance over handling the book, because, well, technically it was his and the blonde didn't seem to mind at all. He flipped open the book and riffled to the first page. It didn't take all of a few minutes before they had an enamoring entry to read.

. . . . .

_A rather peculiar occurrence happened today at the institution. Well, more peculiar than normal that is. Strange things often take occurrence here, but I have grown immune to them. Yet this happening was rather different much to my astonishment. I was given a new patient, which is not that queer around here since I have a dozen or so patients now, and dozens more rehabilitated beyond these walls. The warden gave me a woman who has uncontrollable fits of rage when provoked. And occasionally these conniptions end up with a murder of those who "evoked" the woman. _

_Also it is said that the patient is paranoid to a point where she glances behind her every so often with the assumption that there is a watchman. Maybe this is what causes the rage, assuming that the victim is the spectator of her delusions. I only hope that is the case or else this will be a taxing experience to cure this patient._

_However that is not the_ _only_ _extraneous thing that was with the woman they presented to me. For one, she was_ _narcotized by her father and brother who brought her to this establishment. I do not know why they did such a thing, only maybe because of her aggressive nature or to pacify her paranoid mind. Either way I detested it to the highest extreme. I am a man of first impressions. Therefore when I first saw the doped patient I could not construe her to estimate her condition. Oh well. The family of the woman, her father and brother, stated that she should be like this most of the time lest we be regretful. Nonetheless, I informed them that it will not be an issue, because I have had more belligerent and homicidal patients than she. They both looked doubtful._

_As I said before, I only viewed her once before they literally dragged her to her chambers. But in that time, our eyes met briefly. And what I saw chilled me to the core. It was not like any eyes I have seen. It would be wrong to say that I saw a demon in there, because it would be. Even so, it is the truth. I witnessed something in those eyes unnatural and completely unfathomable. My fears rose in me as we exchanged glances, even if the whole arrangement was for a remnant of a second. It was murderous, vile, and profound, like she had no qualms in killing me nor her own family. Oh, I can feel this is going to be a test of endurance, for me and for the woman. Nevertheless, I have never failed handling and rehabilitating a person of mine. I swear, though it ossifies me, I will assist this woman to cure her perversions. I will help Sydney Sage. _

. . . . .

Sydney halted her readings immediately after that. She then involuntarily gasped. She stared at the name intensively to check for any misspells. Unfortunately, there wasn't any, not one thing that diversified her name from the one in the journal.

"Sage, are you all right?" The Moroi was just as confounded as his partner beside him and it shone in his nearly cracking voice. This, for a lack of a better word, was purely creepy.

The blonde teen didn't seem to hear the young man's question. Her now tunneled mind was only processing her heartbeat and the exact name in the journal, her name. What the hell was going on? Could things get any more unearthly?

The brunette vampire repeated, "Sage? You all right?" He paused slightly just in case she would answer his pleads. Then he proclaimed, "Sage . . . you're hogging the book."

"Hm?"

The emerald-eyed Moroi didn't answer, only pointing to the girl's hands, which did held the worn and unconceivable journal. Sometime during the name and the questions the Alchemist grabbed the book for verification. Now, in was a mere inch from her nose, as if it would change the name of the patient within the book. She removed the book from her vision and handed it back to Adrian, who still had oddments of shock of his face.

The golden-eyed teen answered in a somewhat defensive tone, "Let's just keep reading."

_. . . . . (1855)_

Sydney Sage was literally embroiled by her arms into the sanatorium by her remaining family. Her father and conceding brother were fairly large guys compared to her, but with past experience didn't compare in strength when she was enraged. The only solitary reason why she is passive now is because she was somehow drugged by her father, which she guessed they were lucky for because she was pretty resistance in the past when brought to these types of places. And surely they didn't what more pandemonium in the already nut house.

The only reason they brought her here was because this was the only asylum she has not been confined in that she has escaped from. And she had plenty of elusions from institutions in her short life. But, despite her doped state she was aware of what was going on. She saw everything, every detail of the place that she examined for future reference for her evasion of the hospital. However she couldn't move a muscle much to her astonishment. Her father really outdone himself this time, considering the amount of the drug that he used. The patient couldn't even pick up her feet to evade scraping the tops of her feet.

As far as her father was concerned, if she was alive that was all that mattered. He didn't care about her scrapes or bruises; he only dealt with her arrival to this place. She internally shrugged, considering her immobile state, and diligently crafted her father's and intolerable brother's murders when she escaped this place like so many times before. Oh, they were going to regret putting her in here, she vowed to herself. Her mind was hers, and her internal thoughts were none of his concern. She didn't care what went through her father's psyche, and she desperately didn't want to know it.

She was taken through the corridors of the hospital, taking note of all the windows and orderlies on duty. The patient has had worst conditions in her mind. The woman was then handed over to an orderly, a slim male with over-styled blonde hair and bright blue eyes who was said to be called Keith. The orderly, Keith apparently, strung her along by one arm in an inconsiderate manner. Normally he would be on the floor just for touching her, but his grip on her right now was just unacceptable. He would be bleeding in multiple places if she wasn't in her drugged state. So she added his name to a plethora of things she needs to accomplish before she escapes the institution.

But in the hallway leading to her room, Sydney's murderous thoughts were ceased by another male that caught her eye ten feet away; a brunette, pale man that immediately screamed vampire at her. The woman tried to place a scowl on her face, but the drugs were in the way. Great, she was in a mixed asylum. Her father had reached a new low in her opinion.

The aggressive orderly tightened his grip on her, which made her even more aggravated. Did this guy want a death wish? They reached her room, and as suspected the orderly flung her into it. Fortunately, she landed on the single bed; regarding the state she was in she couldn't break her fall if she was flung a few more feet away. Sydney landed on her side, with her limbs spread out in every which way. The room was small as suspected, with pale off-white walls and a single window in the corner. Windows were a blessing in the patient's mind, but now looking at the opening, she scowled. It was too damn small, even if the woman was greased up.

Sydney would normally be escaping by now, but the drug that her father placed in her was dominating her voluntarily bodily functions. She hated the feeling of being controlled and being dependent on someone. Unlike the rest of society, she was a very head strong and autonomous. Her father detested the idea of a woman being that independent, so she kept doing it with vigor. The patient took the immobile time to contemplate her situation in front of her.

She was in another asylum, yet again, by her father and puppy of a brother. Escape was not an option at the moment by her condition, though the woman can feel the narcotics easing out of her system as she laid limb on the mattress. The young woman let out an exhaustive sigh, coming to an undesirable conclusion. Until the drugs wear thin, she can't function properly in a way she desires to. And by the time they do deplete she will be in another program with another old, cranky doctor.

After some minutes, Sydney felt some control travel to her legs and arms. She sluggishly moved to the wall, still on the bed, and used it as support for her languished body. Scrunching her legs up to her chest and placing her arms over them, she moved her head to the little crock she invented with her own body. It was a dastardly feeling to be drugged by what-ever-it-was, because it wasn't nausea or dizziness, but the feeling of lassitude and inactiveness. The patient was usually active, whether it was evading her father or traveling or even getting into a confrontation with ill-minded people, so the yearning feeling in the pit of her stomach was foreign to the incarcerated woman.

She glanced through her entangled hair canvassing her private room. At least it was a solitary space, unlike some other asylums in the past. Her father thought that he was compassionate for making that request. Because he "wanted what was best for his only daughter". His daughter however couldn't stop laughing at that assumption.

Compassionate was a very large stretch, like when a priest says he has never sinned. Everyone has sinned once in their lives, and those who speak otherwise are either stupid, ignorant, or just a plain hypocrite. Sydney has sinned, oh yes she has, and she is very open about it. Which irks her father more than anything else. The woman never understood why that hypocritical man cared about an outsider's opinion, she sure as hell didn't, but she guessed it must be a man thing. Heaven forbid that the people found out about the influential Sage family's immoral relative, it might just hurt her father's pride.

How dare a man with low scruples judge her by her actions that she chose on her own accord. She loathed the man with a passion, the man that was supposed to love her more than his pride and money. _Oh well_, she thought, _at least I get a paid vacation courtesy of the man who planned to leave me here to rot. _

Then there was her diabolical brother who was the epitome and bastion of sinful behaviors, though her father flagrantly ignored it. He was a drunk with money and whores that could round the block and back. He constantly went to dog fights, cock fights, and brothels with his wealthy buddies. Sydney was just surprised that no woman came by a claimed him to be a father. Now that would certainly be karmic and entertaining in the woman's assessment, but she knew all too well that he would squirm out of it somehow and in some way. And yet after years of this, his only punishment was a broken nose from a bar fight. The patient knew there was a double standard somewhere.

The incarcerated woman leaned back against the wall as far as she could without toppling over. She could feel the drugs seep out of her system, however it would take time. So she stayed put for an undetermined amount of time, tardily getting her strength back. Then the door opened.

Sydney had her head down, concealing her face under a river of gold, yet she still looked up without moving her head to see who wanted to have her company. She thought it maybe an orderly who wanted amusement or maybe a roommate to keep her amused. But instead, like a twisted form of a god's will, she got the brunette male vampire.

The brunette had a very attractive face, which is common for Moroi, with deep emerald eyes that Sydney didn't notice earlier. They were such an intense color that she had to blink behind her hair to attempt to adjust her eyes. His skin was pale, of course, with the long lean body of his race, which galled the human more, because why would a deity give such vexed creatures that much beauty. Finally his hair was in long, wavy, chestnut tresses that went past his ears and was styled in a messy way, but was semi-tamed by the side part to the left and the long sideburns that went to his cheeks. He had a simple grey suit on, which his patient guessed was appropriate since he didn't need to flaunt his attractiveness. Behind her golden mane, she scowled deeply.

The vampire stood in front of her for a few seconds, staring at his new patient with curiosity and assessment. The woman didn't seem like much, but he put away that thought because after 2 years at the asylum, a woman can have strength of ten men. The human female was scrunched up to the wall with her legs, arms, and most of her hair obscuring her features. After a few moments of gawking at the incarcerated woman, he went to business.

"Good evening, Miss Sage," the emerald-eyed male greeted his new patient. "I'm Adrian Ivashkov, and I will be you doctor."

His patient balled her fists to her best mobility, suggesting that the substance was still in her. So, a damned vampire was her doctor. Okay, her father has out done himself this time, putting a Moroi in charge of her, but she will not let this get ahead of her. She was in control; she will overcome this forsaken institution, whilst a vampire breathing down her neck.

The doctor didn't notice his patient's internal struggle only her silence, so he suggested, "Are you awake, Miss Sage? Are you still drugged?"

The woman smirked in spite of herself, though no one else could see it. "I don't know, what can you tell?"

Dr. Ivashkov was taken aback by the human's suddenness and bluntness of the statement. Normally, patients would rant or be inversed and stay catatonic, but this was different. She was subtle and made acknowledgement to him without accusations of insanity toward him. Even so, he shouldn't judge her by past experiences from others in his care. He had a tentative feeling that she will be different from the rest.

He cleared his throat, "I can tell that you're troubled and perverse in ways."

She snorted, more in mirth than disgust, and replied, "Perverse . . . interesting vocabulary you inquired there."

"What else would you say?" He called for in a curious manner. He was having an intellectual conversation with an insane patient, how did this happen?

"I would say . . . diverse, in the eyes of the population anyway." She paused in a thoughtful manner, earning a weird look from the doctor.

"Why are you pausing?" He observed that she stopped herself short before continuing in a noetic way. The man was really finding her interesting, in more ways than one. _She was a layered patient_; he concluded in his mind, _she will need strict care_.

"I don't think I should tell you what I was thinking," she announced, secretly pulling the doctor in to his down fall. She lifted her head slightly, the most movement the pale doctor had seen in the human woman, yet her tresses still somehow enshrouded her face. She caught the curious emerald eyes of the doctor, and a smirk spread across her face, though the man didn't see it.

"I'm your doctor. And as your doctor you can tell me anything and it will be confidential," he insured her. He had a calm, relaxed voice when he addressed her, friendly even if the patient let her guard down.

"You're never going to tame me, you bloodsucker," the woman practically growled. At least the irritable woman was honest to the tranquil young man.

. . . . .

_I fear I may have my hands full with this new patient, Sydney Sage, and I only just converged with the_ _irascible woman. Yet the fact still stands that she knows about me and my race and she is a human, a crazed one at that, but still an outsider from us. What other arcana does she know of? She had a strange look too, in those demon eyes, that she may acknowledge more than she lets on. She undid my nerves when she spoke to me, from her intelligence and from the veraciousness, yet I will not let it obscure my vision for her to have a prosperous life outside of these walls. Miss Sage will be cured of her illnesses, I promise that._

_. . . . . (Present) _

"Wow," the couple said in unison for a lack of nothing better to say. This _was_ an interesting development in their relationship. Who would have thought that their ancestors, with their exact names they might add, would have descendants with equal names having a relation. Was it even possible? The blonde couldn't put her mind around it, but the proof was right there, literally before the young woman.

They, at first, stared at the entry but after a couple of longed minutes, their eyes started to burn from rarely blinking. So, instead they gazed at each other. Both mouths were open yet no sound came out, because of the mystification. The pale young man, however, was the one to break the tortured silence.

"I guess I'm a doctor." He smiled in a so-so way and continued, "Dr. Adrian Ivashkov . . . it does have a ring to it." He pondered the possibility of him being a doctor; it was an intriguing thought, considering that he had no ambition of being one.

"Do you mean a quack?" the teen next to him commented with a smirk, even though it was forced. Her mind still reeled at the possibility of the reoccurrence; therefore she silently thanked Adrian for his intrusion into her thoughts. They were getting pretty deep.

The older man acted offended at the assumption, "What? Me? No . . ."

"You're pretty much already a charlatan as it is, you just need a fake doctorate," the blonde teen joked fluently.

His offended expression turned into one of a competitor, which took the girl off guard. "Oh, so being a crazed, paranoid, irritable patient runs in the family?"

Sydney went silent for a moment, thinking over the family tree. "No," she began with an indifferent face. "That's pretty common with us."

Adrian chuckled, and glanced behind him to his clock. "What time do you need to get back at Amberwood?"

Sydney also glanced behind her to check on the time. Satisfied, she turned back to the eager vampire, "Well since I don't technically get back until tomorrow, I won't get in trouble when I go past curfew. So, I guess any time." She smiled brightly at the party boy, who was silently praying that she wouldn't have to leave soon. He smiled back at her reply.

"So, one more entry?" He proclaimed even though it didn't need to be submitted. The teen next to him shrugged, inertly.

"Okay." After that, they commenced reading once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Revenant Chronicle **

**Chapter 3**

**This story had been inspired by _StarvingLunatic's_ Kim Possible fanfiction _Another Time, Another Place._**

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me. I will fix them.**

**((((0))))**

_The enigma that is my patient grows with each passing day that she is in my care. She is quite a mystery that defies the laws of uncovering it. And I fear that I am at my wit's end when it comes to this woman. My patient is reserved, apathetic, and undoable for my treatment. I vow that I will cure her illness, her perversions, but she does not wish to be rehabilitated let alone conjunctive with me. How can I help this woman if she does not want to be cured?_

_When she comes to our sessions, she is silent, analytical, and seems to be surveying me instead of vice versa. I fear that she knows me, like any good friend does, yet she knows me by not doing anything. She just sits there, elbow on the arm of the chair and chin in her hand, glowering at me with those raptorial eyes of hers. Even so, when she does converse with me, she is vague, indifferent, and states things not worthwhile to her treatment. I write again that she is an enigma. A conundrum that is enveloping in itself, a mystery that fights back. _

_Whenever she departs, much to my relief most of the time, I stare out of my office to the courtyard, where my patients reside for an hour a day for meaningful outside time—if they merit such a privilege. I often see this questionable patient isolated and alone in the corner. She often stares out into nothing in particular. But then after a couple of weeks of watching Ms. Sage, I finally realized what she was performing. Her condition, the rage and the paranoid delusions, justifies her actions. She isolates herself so she won't get into a confrontation with an ill-minded patient or a strong-headed orderly. And her constant position in the courtyard is very strategically placed for her pathology. It views the entire courtyard, with no blind spots or weak points in visage. I can tell you, she is still looking for her watchman of her hallucinations._

_It scares me to say this, and I regret to even write it. However I conceive that this woman knows what she is doing, like any person in their trade. And it sends fear racing through me that she knows that I know._

_. . . . . (Present)_

"So, you were OCD and an introvert, even in a past life," commented the smirking Moroi turning to his couch partner.

"I don't believe in past lives," riposted the Alchemist. It was completely illogical in her opinion for someone to have a reoccurring life with the same features as the person every hundred or so years. Humans were very diverse, so it was impossible to even conceive such a notion. Not to mention the nonexistent likelihood of said occurrence. The blonde then went back over what the pale vampire said about her, and then stated, "And there's nothing wrong with being methodical and having alone time."

The older pale man chuckled at her little retort. "Says the girl who rarely sees her boyfriend."

The teen squinted her eyes at the vampire, who was still grinning at her. She then proceeded to mumble something about distance in a relationship, and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. Turning to the clock, and then involuntarily yawning, she sluggishly got up from the (rather comfortable) couch. Picking up her satchel, she turned to the bemused Moroi one last time.

"Surely we can pick this up tomorrow, right?" She asked, stifling a yawn.

Adrian took a couple of seconds to reply, but ultimately said, "Don't you want to know how this got into your house?"

It was true, that was the reason she came to Adrian's place, but it will be hard to do when she's trying to fight off exhaustion. "Do you want me to fall asleep?" She replied easily and quickly like so many times before.

"In my arms . . . yes." A grin played across his face, as he uttered those words. _It would be nice_, he thought to himself. Yet he was disappointed when she shook her head and declined. She took the book from the young man's hands, stating that she didn't trust him because he will read ahead. He scoffed in disbelief halfheartedly, but he knew it was true. They said their adieus and the blonde human left the premises, leaving the brunette Moroi to his thoughts. He couldn't help but think about the journal that bore his name and the names within in the pages of the haggard daybook. Even so, with the familiar names and the unsuspected department, he thought about the human that was once there trying to hide her smile from him as she left. The emerald-eyed Moroi grinned to himself.

_. . . . . (1855) _

Sydney was forcefully placed into the doctor's office, courtesy of Keith, the rough orderly. She noted how there was a glint in his blue eyes when he pushed her around, and the other patients for that matter. It was sadistic and sinister, almost like when she hurts or kills someone who has aggravated her. The woman wasn't just irritated with the man, but also murderous toward him. She has seen what men like Keith does first hand and she knows it won't stop until he is either crippled or buried six feet under. And the latter is what the woman prefers.

Dr. Ivashkov knows about the orderly's roughness around his patients, and constantly orders the man to stop it. But his words go on deaf ears. The doctor has even reported Keith four times or so, yet the warden doesn't act on it. Sighing, the pale vampire puts down his pen, and folds his hands together.

"You may leave now," his nearly growls, trying not to show his fangs. The orderly doesn't seem to move fast enough for the Moroi doctor so he adds, "Now, please."

The blue-eyed man grumbles under his breath an insult, however the doctor ignores it. Taking up the conversation, Sydney states, "Don't let the door hit you, Keithy-boy."

Smirking like a Cheshire cat with an evil flicker in her molten eyes, she watched as the orderly turns a shade of red and storms out. Unbeknownst to her that the man cursed her name in a vulgar manner, yet it wasn't like people have said things like that to her face before. Once the door was shut and semi-peace ensued, the patient turned slightly to the doctor, who proceeded back to his work on his desk. Sydney examined in the past that the young man often had paper work to do or something along those lines because he was always scribbling away. She observed that he squinted slightly that made a crinkle in his forehead, and how he always seemed to have a journal with him. These were some of the many things the incarcerated woman picked up while observing the man.

Not looking up from his work he posited, "Take a seat."

The blonde conceded, and sat in the wooden chair. Flinging her legs over one the arms, she easily got comfortable in the hard chair. Unlike the norm of the day, the human wore trousers instead of the tiresome layered dresses that woman were perceived to wear. It was one of the things that irked her father, and of course she had to gall the old man even more. So, she continued to do such a thing. And to be honest, the woman never liked the skirts and the dresses that were forced upon her. They were uncomfortable and extremely irksome to get into. Therefore, she was clad in trousers and a loose white shirt, much to her solace.

The young vampire man continued writing while his patient longed at him with inquest in her golden eyes. Most people, most humans preferably, would think that he was a normal, young, human doctor that was set on making a name for himself. Sure, he has done such a thing, with his unorthodox method of confronting his patients, but the woman knew that he wasn't normal. The man was a vampire. And being such an unholy creature, she detests him to the highest standard. Yet here he was practically ruling over the human like there wasn't a care in the world. Sydney scowled to herself.

His kind was creatures of the night, beings that were forsaken from God. She was trained to spot them and keep them hidden from the world to the best of her ability; however she can't do such a thing now because she was locked away by her hypocritical father. The patient internally shrugged. It didn't matter, not that it will ever. She will escape and be free once more, doing the job her ancestors did centuries before, but on her own terms; not with that bureaucratic society her father was adjoined in and subsequently forcing her to join. Her brother was lucky, because he was younger, even if she was born merely minutes before the intolerable man. It was tradition for the "family trade" to bestow it upon the first-born. Sydney never got that part, but it didn't matter. She was sworn in now, not that it stopped her from doing her dos.

The pen Dr. Ivashkov held was put down by the said man, and he looked up to his patient, who looked rather nonchalance in his chair. He assessed that she probably couldn't do such a thing if she was in the natural clothing woman wore, not that he minded. He wanted his patients to be comfortable around him; it means better treatments and assessments.

But that wasn't the case with the woman before him. The emerald-eyed doctor intertwined his fingers together, and faced his relaxed patient.

"So, Ms. Sage, are we going to converse today? Or are you going to sit there with a bored expression on your face?" He bemused the woman across from him.

The young man was use to people in his care being apprehensive at first, yet with his way of handling his people; they usually opened up quite quickly. Therefore they left equally as quick. He had a charisma about him that people seemed comfortable around, so it allowed for his unusual treatment to go on easily. But for this blonde woman, it was a different story. This woman was so guarded, so apprehensive toward him that more times than not they just stared at each other with determination. He had written earlier within his journal that Sydney's treatment was going to be a test of endurance for him and the patient. The vampire couldn't have been more right.

His patient didn't answer, only shrugging oh so slightly to indicate that she heard him. He sighed and closed his eyes for a second, and opened them back up. The vampire took in her appearance; her posture, her clothes, her hair that enshrouded her face. Now that he was thinking about it, he concluded that he has never truly seen her face, only the golden mane that hid it from the man.

"Are you always this difficult?" He asked in a low voice.

Sydney at first stared, and then answered, "Maybe."

"Why?" He questioned back, hoping for some answers.

"Why what?"

"Why are you so difficult?" The young man really hoped that they would get somewhere soon or else he would scream bloody murder. It has been nearly a month and he has gotten nowhere with the tedious woman. All he wants is to help her!

"Why are you so nosey?" The blonde countered, still appearing to be bored, which in all actuality was true. Normally she would be liberated by now, but she couldn't find a way out yet, plus she was starting to be entertained by her doctor. She wondered how long it would take the man to realize that she was a lost cause. So far the money was on two months.

The pale vampire scoffed, "I'm your doctor."

"And I'm a woman but you don't see me being obedient and laying on my back for a man," she nearly laughed as she spoke but withheld such a thing.

"So is that why you're here?" He inquired, with a slight hint of hope in it.

"I'm here because of my hypocritical and soon-to-be-dead father." Sydney bluntly stated as if it was nothing for her to say. It was true, she was aiming for her father when she got out of the asylum, and desired to kill or seriously mangle the man who raised her. Sooner or later his self-righteous ass will be on the floor because of her, and the woman can't wait for that day.

Dr. Ivashkov cocked a brown eyebrow, "Really? Why do you say that?"

Sydney didn't bite on the man's hook of psychology analysis, so instead she placed her cheek into her palm, gazing at the eager male before her. The patient couldn't help but notice that he was very handsome with his little innocent aura about him. Normally she would be all over the man and conquering him by now, yet she knew he was a bloodsucking monster, so that little fantasy won't pan out. Even Sydney didn't stoop that low considering all that she has done.

Realizing that his opening was closing to examine the blonde human, he calmly announced, "I'm starting to think that you don't want to be cured."

"You're just starting to figure that out?" She mused, with a slight smile on her face, though the doctor couldn't see it because of her hair.

Clearly annoyed, he implied, "No, I have known for a while."

The conversation stopped for a while, as no reply came from the insane human. Sydney noted that the man wasn't as meek as he leads people on to believe. He was actually quite smart and sophisticated, despite his race. He honestly believed that he could cure her and she laughed at him for being so naïve. _You can't cure independence_, the blonde woman thought.

But then a thought came to her that she hasn't realized before. "So you want me to be 'normal'?"

The doctor nodded, wishing that this was the breakthrough he has been looking for in his patient. However, it wasn't that time.

"You want me to be a normal woman, with a normal life like the consensus of the population looks for. You want me to be passive and not enraged, or not be paranoid when there is certainly no one pursuing me that _you_ have seen. But in all you're just another dissembler with privilege. You're not normal; you're not what people are lead to believe that you are. I know what you are, what your kind is and all of the other kinds that surround you. I acknowledge everything—I shroud your race and the others from prying eyes of _normal_ humans. Take your own advice doctor, and you try to be normal before you wedge and hale it on me." The golden-eyed girl plainly responded in a phlegmatical manner as though she has rehearsed it so many times before.

Dr. Ivashkov only stared incredulously at Ms. Sage, not believing what he had just heard. She has receipted his kind and all the other kinds that he has been associated with. Letting the words sink in, he leaned back slightly, like she was a magnet with the same pole as he, so he was repealed away. The doctor known that his patient knows about his race, but her egregiously stating it like that was unheard of.

By the time the session was over, the young Moroi man had more questions than answers.

. . . . .

The incarcerated woman strolled into the court-yard with Keith on her side, escorting her to her claimed seat. Once he left (and forcefully shoved her down), she resumed her analysis of the yard in a quizzical way. Some off the rocker patients moved around, muttering, ranting, or hitting themselves which wasn't stopped by the orderlies. Others were doing exercises with some physicians; either throwing balls to and from one another or even attempting to work out. Resting against the wall, Sydney felt her muscles relax from the abrasive interaction with the doctor.

She was pretty proud of herself for telling the Moroi off. It's not that he really deserved it, he was only doing his job, yet he did technically asked for it. Still seeing the man's facial expression morph into various expressions, the woman smiled to herself. Oh, yes she was proud of herself.

After a few minutes of self-satisfaction with her actions, the blonde once again started her viewing of the court-yard. It wasn't anything special, just a bunch of ill-minded and insane people cramped into one place. There have been better yards in the woman's opinion, but this one was decent to her standards.

Her rummaging was ceased when she caught sight of a pale figure sitting a few yards away from her person. The figure was solitary at a table, with what looks like to be a board game in front of it. The blonde would normally wave it off as another crazy person, yet she was abnormally bored right now and she needed to be entertained. So stiffly, she walked over to the table and aguishly sat down.

The figure turned out to be that of a willowy woman, obviously vampire by the skin and frame. The human didn't really mind, she only came for some musings anyway. After a while of staring at the catatonic vampire, the blonde took in the young girl's presence. Her light brown, curly hair was in the Moroi's face and hasn't been combed in some time. The clothes on the woman were stained slightly considering it was asylum issued white trousers and shirt. The posture of the girl was sickly and hunched over with her arms crossed over her chest.

Sydney noted that she has seen the girl in the exact position every time she came to the court-yard, therefore she concluded that the vampire was most likely physically catatonic. A pang of empathy pasted through the human, yet she quickly shoved it away. She was not getting soft for a vampire, especially an insane one.

After the analysis of the young girl, the human glanced down at the game on the table which happens to be chess. One of the woman's least favorite games. The chips were organized into two sides classified by the colors black and beige. Sydney had the latter chips, while the girl had the former. Trying one last time to view the nutty vampire's face, but ultimately failed, the human traveled her gaze to the game in front of them. Though she disliked the game since it was easy and typically unambitious, the blonde couldn't help but lazily push one of the brown pieces up.

She glanced back at the brunette girl, waiting for an unlikely response. After an undetermined amount of time, the golden-eyed woman was ready to bolt. However, a miniscule gesture caught the impatient woman's attention. It was small, and seemingly unnoticeable to anyone away from the table, but it was still movement.

Sydney waited for another indication of life, but it didn't come. However a very unscientific hypothesis came to her, so she moved one of black pieces toward her, as if the vampire girl was playing too. And like before there was movement, or more specifically shoulder activity. The pale shoulders rose about an inch from where they resided, making it look like the teen was straightening up.

After seeing this, the blonde human moved another piece and then another, playing both parties, and noting that the brunette teen was decompressing from her hunched state. About 5 moves in the girl looked semi-presentable, but was stilled hunched over with her head down slightly. Nevertheless, something happened that could be considered a miracle or scientific accomplishment. Hesitantly a hand came from under the table, pale and shifty, and rested by the board game. Moving another piece, particularly a brown one, the molten eyes of the human rested on the immobile hand.

To be truthful, the human never thought that she would actually help an insane person in her lifetime, since, well, she was technically mad herself. Therefore when the ashen, petite figures moved a checker piece across the board, she was surprised as anyone who saw such an act. She moved another one of her pieces, secretly hoping that the girl would respond to her actions. And of course the former catatonic patient did, playing with the human.

Later on, the game wrapped up with Sydney being the winner. Yes, it would have been bountiful to give the game to the now rehabilitated patient, but the human didn't play that way. You earned the right to be victorious over the blonde.

Through her hair Ms. Sage smiled in spite of herself, even though no one could see it. And as if another blessing of God came down upon the table and it occupants, the teen adjacent to her lifted her head to the player. Brown, curly hair moved out of her face unveiling her eyes. As gold clashed with jade, Sydney knew she conjured up something foreign to her and most likely to her new chess partner.

Here by, here and now, a human made a friend with a vampire.


	4. Chapter 4

**Revenant Chronicle **

**Chapter 4**

**This story has been inspired by _StarvingLunatic's _Kim Possible fanfiction _Another Time, Another Place._**

**This chapter has violence and blood in it, so you have been warned.**

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me. I will fix it.**

**((((0))))**

"I thought you were staying at Adrian's apartment," asked an amused Jill. The blonde just came into room after a long night of reading and deliberating how the worn journal got into her house. She didn't answer right away, only grunting and placing the journal on her desk. She was physically and mentally ragged both from the mystery and the jet-lag that now caught up with the Alchemist. She de-shouldered her satchel and shuffled to her bed. Once she was in falling distance, she flopped down on the mattress.

Finally she answered the curious Moroi, "What? And let him torment me about my ancestor? No thank you."

The exhausted human warily glanced over at the lounging Moroi. The brunette was on the unused bed in the human's private room, reading a fashion magazine and in her purple pajamas. She looked quite comfortable considering that she was pushing curfew and lights out.

The vampire chuckled, "But you could have countered with his own."

It was true she could, but her brain wanted sleep and what her brain wants it shall receive. Sydney didn't reply only glancing at the younger girl, who was flipping to another page. Stifling a yawn, the human turned slightly to the lounging girl so that she could face her. After a few minutes of semi-consciousness, Sydney lifted her head toward the badgered daybook.

"What a discovery," the blonde teen sighed. Really it was an astounding discovery, considering the parties involved. The families, as far as the teen was concerned, wasn't associated with one another. Even if it was possible the families couldn't have been that close, they were vampires and humans after all.

The younger teen peered up at depleted blonde and simultaneously flipped to another page. She didn't respond after a few analytical seconds, only considering the possibilities of such an occurrence. Ultimately she said, "Adrian's just as curious as you, if not more. He loves mystery novels and this just fascinates him."

The older girl raised an eyebrow, "Really? I would have considered him more of a straight to DVD kind of guy." The blonde teen grinned thinking of Adrian by a fire, with round, wire-rimmed glasses reading a mystery novel. _That would be an interesting sight to see._

The Moroi chuckled softly, and straightened from her lounging position. "You'd be surprised by what he does . . . or well thinks."

Sydney eyeballed the retreating vampire as she walked to the door, wondering what the girl insinuated by that. Just when the freshman was at the door, she turned to the Alchemist with a glimmer in her jade eyes (that curiously represented another's snarky glint).

"Oh yeah . . . you'd be surprised by what goes through his mind." With that she left the baffled and fatigued teen.

_. . . . . (1855) _

It seemed like the paperwork never ended for Dr. Adrian Ivashkov. There was always some more when the others ended and it seems to accumulate with every passing day. If the young man would have known how much scribbling and red tape, he would have chosen a different career ambition than being a physician and psychologist. But nonetheless, he was in the mist of work so he may as well finish it. Not paying his irascible patient any mind, he continued his writing, ignoring the ache in his fingers.

The blonde patient's words still haunted the doctor, referring to him as a hypocrite and the hidden races associated with him. How much did the woman know? Did she just know the general outlook or did she have the details? Either way, the words were like a ghost forever frequenting the young man.

The said "ghost" sat in front of the vampire in her usual relaxed position with her hair covering her features. Adrian's emerald eyes lifted from his papers, and internally sighed. The labor was not going to get done with the incarcerated woman before him, so he settled his pen and sat back, glowering at the young blonde. He did not say anything, knowing that what he'd utter would either be thrown back at his face or ignored with nescient ears. Nothing he did or said will get to the human. So why bother?

Finally the patient ventured, "Are you going to evaluate me?"

This, in Sydney's opinion, wasn't like the doctor she was accustomed to. The one she was used to would be asking the questions first, not her uttering it foremost. So, with this stated, something was definitely wrong. The woman noticed some time ago that her doctor was loyal, brave, and bold with his work. He always wanted to know her, always wanted to cure the diseased woman, but this was just plain weird. In the patient's view anyway.

"Are you going to be difficult?" the young vampire countered, with a bit of aggravation laced through the words.

"I don't know. Do you forfeit?" It would be quite easier for the man to forgo with his treatment. It was just waste of time and resources. He would be merry with real nut-cases not depleting his mind with a woman who clearly doesn't want to be rehabilitated.

"Why would I?" He bluntly stated.

Adrian never remembered a time when he simply gave up. Sure it was a perilous journey to go down that path, but it was in his nature to succeed. Even when he was younger, yearning for his father's approval and affections, he never threw in the towel. And he certainly wasn't going to start now.

The doctor continued, "I never give up. Even with an irrational and devolved woman such as yourself. If you want to watch the desk rot be my guest, but until then I will treat you bodily. You do not wish to be cured, so you do not wish to be part of society. Be an outcast and diminish in here, it will do you no justice."

Sydney frowned slightly. Somewhere deep down she was hurt by the doctor's words. The doctor who was sincerely striving to cure her of her "perversions". Yet now he idle his attempt to pull information out of her. Even though it did hurt the patient, she persistently ignored it. _He's just another doctor_, she thought, _just another_. He is only here to get paid, nothing more than that, no underlying reason to be here with her.

They taciturnly sat until the end of Sydney's session. The orderly, Keith, came when he was supposed to and forcibly grabbed the blonde, much to the young doctor's disgust. He has about to scold the orderly, however Sydney stopped him.

"It's fine, doc, he can't condone himself." She undermined to the rough orderly.

Normally the vampire would frown and defend Keith, like any good doctor would do, but since the orderly resisted he commands before, Adrian let the comment slide.

The patient was escorted out of the room and led down the hall. It wasn't until they passed their usual turn to the courtyard that Sydney realized that they weren't going to their usual route. The patient glanced to her side to the orderly only to see a stoic expression on his face. She guessed that the doctor revoked her yard privileges for being so insubordinate to his treatments. Shrugging, the patient followed her chauffeur to where ever they were going. She only hoped her new vampire friend didn't miss her too much. They were really starting to bond.

Yanking her by the arm, Keith led her to a hallway the patient didn't recognize. She felt the aura in the area shift slightly and she dubiously glanced at the escort. The patient was shoved into the second to last room, only stumbling a little to regain her balance. Apparently there was a bathing room here, Sydney could see now, with multiple tubs and curtains around the room.

Shortly after her assessment, the blonde heard the door close and lock behind her. Turning around, Sydney saw Keith cross his arms and step away from the door.

"Sorry Keithy-boy, but I bathe alone," the golden-eyed woman remarked. She didn't know why he closed the door behind him, yet she didn't let it express on her face. The patient wanted to see his intentions.

"I'm tired of your defiant ways and your mouth. Now I'm going to cure a wench like any man should," he declared, stepping forward.

Sydney narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "How so?" Tentatively, she knew what his atrocious innuendo meant, but she wanted to make sure.

"I'll cure you like that wretched excuse of a man can't." His conviction angered Sydney. How dare he insult her doctor! She was the only one to say such things. And now as the loathsome orderly talked about such a dear person, the woman swore this man wasn't going to walk again after she was done. She was going to let him know who he was dealing with. She wasn't a woman to lie down and let a man do away with her, like the unanimity of the population would like. Oh yes, this orderly was going to lose what was _so_ _dear_ to him.

Orderly Keith stalked over to the blonde woman, who showed no resistance to his pursuit. Her stature and her pose, standing with her arms to her side, showed him that she will be recessive to him. She was only a woman. She needed to know her place, which was beneath him.

Once he was close enough he reached for her clothing or more specifically her trousers. Sydney noted the look of lecherousness in his eyes and how his mouth was open slightly. What an imbecilic man.

In one swift movement, the blonde female's fist connected to the male's jaw in a fluid uppercut. The blue-eyed male stumbled back and grunted from the surprisingly strong force.

Sydney snarled, "You think I will just let _you_ do your way with _me_? I haven't got this far by letting asses like you rule and dominate me." The woman's anger was rising with each passing moment with the uncouth cur. Her eyes seemed to darken to pure obsidian from the golden-brown she usually had. A murderous and baneful glint raced across her irises as she glared at the man before her.

Wiping away some drops of blood, Keith straightened, "You'll regret that you dishonorable sow. You're just a naïve girl." The orderly didn't care about his position anymore nor did he care about his job. If he be caught, so be it, at least he'd taught that woman where she belongs.

"And I'm the girl who is going to rip your manhood away from you, like I have done multiple times before," she rejoined.

Keith growled and tore to the incarcerated woman with vengeance in his pale blue eyes. Lest he didn't know was that Sydney has been in plenty of fights with all kinds people, some with more than one opponent. Therefore when Sydney side-stepped Keith and planted a decent looking round kick to his gut, she continued wailing on him with her fists and legs.

The male fell on his back and moaned. The patient smirked and walked over to the semi-conscious orderly and kicked him for good measure. She then proceeded to walk over the door and make her escape. But that was withdrawn when the knob didn't move. The patient cursed and started to turn back to the orderly.

A sudden pain in her neck alerted her, and she then grabbed the arm and flung Keith to the wall, which discarded whatever it was that struck the woman. The pain subsided and Sydney peered down to floor where a syringe laid with a clear fluid within it. The vile was half filled with the liquid, obviously a narcotic, with the other half inside Sydney. Damn man tried to drug her!

The blonde woman whipped her head to the orderly, who was rubbing his head from the sudden meeting with the wall. The female human hunted over to the injured man, trying to persevere through the drowsy state coming on her. She reached for the intolerable man, but was hit in the abdomen by a fist.

She fell back, more from the drug than the actual hit, and was immediately bombarded by the blonde man. Recovering from the loss of balance, she struggled against the body on top of her. And considering that she was in a semi-doped condition, she was doing a fairly decent job. Keith got a few good slaps in until Sydney's equilibrium came to and she flipped their positions. The orderly wasn't a big guy, so it was fairly easy to dominate him. Her fists connected with his face a dozen times and soon the fight in the male died down until he was childishly pushing her away.

An aching hurt started forming in her fists as she kept pounding the man underneath her and soon an ache in her head caused her to slow down her vigorous assault. The drug was wearing her out. Normally, she would be done with either Keith unconscious or dead, yet the narcotics within her blood didn't allow her to the access her true strength. She cursed the somewhat smart man for drugging her, wondering if he got the idea from her father's treatment of her.

Breathing was becoming hard to do; the patient stopped her badgering, and forewent to do something practicable like search Keith's body for that forsaken key.

"Where's the infernal key?" Sydney muttered under her breath as she sought his person.

After some undetermined amount of time, the man underneath her stirred and flashed open his crude and devilish eyes. Oh, how she loathed those piercing cobalt eyes. She noted how cunning they looked and how soulless they are. Promptly, the blonde patient placed her thumbs over his eyes and pushed inward.

Keith wailed vehemently in pain and started swatting at the insane patient. Somehow he pushed away one of the hands and held onto it, however the molten-eyed girl still pushed her remaining thumb inward. Blood started bubbling around her digit and the male human kept screaming. Half of his face was splattered in the red liquid as the woman patient's breath suddenly came short again. Sweat rolled off of her face as the drug took her body and Sydney retracted her thumb from Keith's socket. He still screamed and cursed her and attempted to hit her half-blindly. The woman rolled off the anguished man and scooted to the nearest wall.

She curled her legs to her torso and placed her head on her knees. Sydney looked up a few times to check on her assailant, who was wiggling on the tile floor from pain. He clutched his eye as blood pooled out of his eye and socket.

Typically, the golden-eyed woman would smile in triumph from her just actions. But this didn't feel like a victory. Maybe it was the drug or that she wasn't in the mood for Keith's assault because of the doctor incident. Yes, she was proud of what she did considering her doped stated, but she wasn't happy or elated about it.

When at times Keith brought up the courage to come at her again, Sydney responsively kicked the man where his current torture was. That seemed to settle him away from her.

After an unknown amount of meter, the incarcerated woman heard the door fly open. She hesitantly looked up to the opening. There in the doorway, Doctor Ivashkov, her savior, stood.

. . . . .

_. . . I heard a commotion down the hall where the baths where. I quickly hastened to the disturbance and discovered my patient and the orderly, Keith Darnell, a man who thought he was superordinate to the rest of the population. Including me and my patient. Ms. Sage was to the wall glowering at the sprawling man ahead of her with a vindictive look in those roguish eyes. She was a serpent ready to strike down a hunter in her mist just for nearing her person. The clothing she wore was tattered and visible patches of bruises and blood was among her features, despite the hair hiding her visage. Keith looked worse than wear than the patient_ _whilst. Her eyes captured mine, through the hair and blood, and imparted me with her thinking. She was no victim. She was valiant and_ _chivalrous. And she knew that I will accept it sooner or later. I have conceded and I am proud to admit it._


End file.
